


cold, cruel eyes

by theoreticlove



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But In An Absent And God-Like Kind Of Way, F/M, Flashbacks, Fëanáro Is Not Okay, Gen, In Which Case They Are Cool, The Valar Suck, Unless You’re Nerdanel, Vomiting, What’s A Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticlove/pseuds/theoreticlove
Summary: fëanáro has issues with the valar. in particular, mandos.





	cold, cruel eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy! please drop a kudos and/or a comment if you did because i THRIVE off that!!

Fëanáro Curufinwë has a complicated relationship with the Valar. He has a hateful relationship with Mandos. No matter what he tries to tell himself, no matter how he tries to adopt Nerdanel’s devout religion, he can never see Mandos as anyone other than the being who took his mother away.

He remembers very clearly the day he met Mandos (and, likewise, the spirit of his mother). He may have been very young, only six years old, but he will never forget that day. All too well he remembers the cold, unfeeling white of Mandos’ eyes and the guilt on his mother’s face as Mandos brought her back to his halls. 

Guilt wasn’t enough to get her to come back. Regret for leaving Fëanáro without a mother was not enough for her to decide to actually be his mother.

When he was younger, Fëanáro hated her for it. Now he hates Mandos, for the way he had spoken to Míriel and convinced her that staying in the halls was what was best for her, as if he could possibly know what was best for her. He remembers wanting to speak against Mandos and beg his mother to come home. He remembers feeling Mandos’ gaze bear into his spirit, leaving Fëanáro terrified and unable to move his lips, tears running down his face. Today, he still cannot tell if it was the fear that paralysed him, or Mandos himself.

Today, he hates Mandos. But that is at the back of his mind, because today he also visits Nerdanel, who often occupies the chief of his thoughts. He is entranced by her, her smile, her hair, her loud personality. He cannot get enough of it. She is all he’s ever wanted, and they have made it very clear that they are to be betrothed as soon as they are both of age. Oh, he cannot wait for that day. Her begetting day will come in a few months time, and his shortly afterwards. He has his proposal all planned out- flowers and a handmade ring that he has been working on for weeks.

Today is not his proposal, however. Today he will simply visit. She had sent a messenger for him this morning, asking if he could come by her workshop later to give her advice on her latest piece. She hadn’t specified what it was, but Nerdanel was so incredibly talented at her craft that Fëanáro is certain he will love it.

He walks into her workshop, looking for a glimpse of her red hair, shining like copper in the light of the sun. Nerdanel has always enjoyed working under glass roofs, to let the light in. She says it’s comforting, it feels peaceful. When Fëanáro sees her, he agrees. 

She is beautiful, as always, sketching away in front of a statue covered by a sheet. Coloured pencils lie around her, and Fëanáro realises that she is deciding how she will paint the statue. He clears his throat to get her attention and she puts her pencil down, turning to face him.

When Nerdanel smiles at him like she is now, he falls in love all over again. She is bright and happy and it infects him, as though her happiness is a drug and he experiencing it for the very first time, every time. 

“Fëanáro!” She says, and runs over to embrace him, covered in dust from the stone she had been shaping earlier. The dust coats him, but he doesn’t particularly mind. By now, he knows full well not to wear fancy clothes to her workshop, just as he wouldn’t in his forge. 

“Hi,” he replies, hugging her back and kissing the top of her head. “I heard you are in dire need of some advice.”

She pulls back, shaking her head, but she’s still smiling. 

“I wouldn’t say dire, but yes, I could use some advice. I’m not quite sure what to do with my statue, whether I should paint it or just leave it white.”

“Well, show me the statue and I’ll see what it’s like. I’m no sculptor, though, are you sure you want an answer from me?” He asks, just to double check. He is a smith, after all, and while Nerdanel’s sculptures are as lovely as she is, he just wants to make sure she doesn’t want advice from, well, a sculptor. 

“Oh, yes, for sure. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise,” she says. She walks over to the statue and pulls the cover off as Fëanáro watches, wondering who she has tried to represent this time.

He freezes when he sees the cruel, white eyes. 

Nerdanel has crafted a sculpture of Mandos and the likeness is perfect. She doesn’t need colour because Mandos has none, has no personality other than cold, unfeeling and death. Panic rises up in him and his breath catches. He needs to go, he can’t be here, not around this statue.

_No, amme, why do you have to go? I don’t want you to leave again!_

_Míriel, please, think of our son, he- he needs a mother, Míriel.’_

“I think you should keep it white,” Fëanáro blurts out, and he runs from the room. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, not consciously, but the next thing he knows he’s bent over, vomiting in Nerdanel’s house’s bathroom, tears running down his face. Nothing is registering other than _Please don’t go please don’t take my amme away please atto you can’t let him take her away please please please amme no!_

What feels hours later, his father runs in, although Fëanáro doesn’t register that until Finwë pulls his eldest son into his arms and cradles him like he’s a child. He’s sure he’s still crying, but now he calms down a bit a realises where he is. 

“Fuck.” He’s in Nerdanel’s house, her parents are probably here, she’s definitely here and had to see him break down, by Eru (he won’t swear by the Valar), this is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened. 

“Language,” Finwë chides gently, tone carrying no real bite as he kisses his son’s forehead. “Everything’s alright, yes, everything’s alright. You’re okay, kiddo.”

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. He catches a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye and refuses to look up. He doesn’t want to see pity on Nerdanel’s face. He knows she’s religious, holds such a deep, intricate faith in the Valar. He doesn’t want her to feel bad that he doesn’t, that he can’t find that faith. 

“It’s okay, Fëanáro, you’re alright. It’s not your fault,” Finwë reassures. _He’s always been so good at that_ , Fëanáro thinks. _My siblings and I are lucky to have him_ (not that he will admit that he ever considered any of them siblings) (except maybe Írimë. he likes her). 

“Can we go home?” he asks, quietly. He feels Finwë nod, and his father helps him stand up. He’s shaking a bit, and notices that he’s out of breath, a light layer of sweat on his forehead. 

“Excuse us,” Finwë says. Fëanáro ignores who he’s talking to. He doesn’t want to know which of Nerdanel’s family members have seen him so wrecked like this. He’s a prince, for Eru’s sake, he’s supposed to be composed and calm and not a broken boy sobbing in his future wife’s bathroom. 

They walk home in silence, other than Finwë checking in to ask how he’s doing and if he’s feeling better. Gradually, Fëanáro’s ‘yes’ seems more and more truthful. 

He is still exhausted by the time they get home, and decides to go to bed immediately. Finwë insists on staying with him until he falls asleep, like when Fëanáro was a child who still believed in monsters under the bed (the real monsters are being worshipped as gods in intricate temples they don’t deserve, save Nienna). 

“Can you tell me about Amme?” Fëanáro asks. He doesn’t know why. He wasn’t even thinking about asking, but his mouth moves quicker than his brain, he supposes. It always has.

“Of course,” Finwë says gently. ‘What do you want to know?” 

Fëanáro has heard most of the stories about his mother by now. How they met, how his father proposed, the first time she did something and Finwë thought ‘I love you’. He doesn’t really know what to say. Luckily his mouth is there to cover for his struggling brain.

“Did she love me?” he asks, before he can stop himself. 

“Oh, Fëanáro,” Finwë says, tears shining in his eyes. “Your mother loves you so, so much. I know- I know you wish she was here, but I hope you always know that she loves you more than anything else in the world.”

“I wish she had stayed.” Fëanáro’s voice cracks. He doesn’t want to start crying again, but he’s dangerously close. 

“So do I,” Finwë says, though it’s quiet enough to be a whisper. Fëanáro gets up and gives his father a hug.

“You’ll always stay, though right?” Fëanáro asks, just to double check.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you, Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro nods and lets go of his father just as Írimë walks in, cautiously. She’s holding her favourite stuffed bear.

“Fëanáro?” she asks, voice tiny.

“Hey, Írimë,” Fëanáro replies.

“Ñolofinwë said you were sad, so I- I thought I would give you Mr Teddy,” she says, holding the bear out to him. “I thought you could sleep with him and he can give you nice dreams!”

“Thanks, Írimë,” he says. He picks up the bear and his sister with one sweep, kissing her cheek while she giggles. 

“Fëanáro, put me down!” She giggles. 

“Okay, fine,” he says, setting her down. “Goodnight, kiddo. Thank you for Mr Teddy.”

“Goodnight!” Írimë runs out of the room. 

“I’m so glad you and your sister get along. Now, into bed, Fëanáro. Get some sleep.” Finwë says, tears replaced with a happy smile. 

“Goodnight, atto.”

“Goodnight, Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro has no dreams that night, even if he was fully expecting nightmares. He wakes up and supposes Mr Teddy has served his purpose. He is suddenly extremely grateful for his half-siblings, trying as the elder ones may be.

He has to apologise to Nerdanel, he realises. The way he left things yesterday was… rude and upsetting, to say the least. He hopes he can make it up to her.

“My necklace!” He says, walking over to the shelf where he kept his finished jewelry, all the things he wanted to give to Nerdanel eventually. Recently, he had finished a golden necklace with an ‘N’ on it, encrusted with emeralds. he thought it would suit her, but hadn’t been sure when he would give it to her. Now he was.

“I’m going out!” He calls.

“Where to?” His father calls back.

“Nerdanel’s house!” 

“Be safe!”

“I will!”

“Do you have Mr Teddy Fëanáro?”

“Írimë, he’s on your bed!”

“You’re the best, Fëanáro!”

“I know!”

He shuts the door behind him before beginning his walk over.

When he arrives, he knocks on the door. By this point, he usually walks in the back, through the door adjacent to Nerdanel’s studio, but he had stopped to buy flowers for Mahtan and his wife, so he changed his course.

“Fëanáro, welcome,” Mahtan says as he opened the door. He smiles at the prince. Fëanáro and Mahtan’s family are close enough to forgo formalities, since Fëanáro is courting his daughter and is simultaneously his apprentice. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I brought you and your wife flowers. I hope you can forgive me for my behaviour yesterday, I’m so sorry for having lost it like tha-”

“Think nothing of it, dear boy. We all understand. There are no hard feelings at all, but thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful. I presume you want to speak with Nerdanel?”

Fëanáro nods, relieved that no one seems to be making a big deal about yesterday. “Yes, I do.”

“You know the way to her studio, then.” Mahtan steps out of the way to let Fëanáro inside. He takes off his shoes and heads towards the back of the house, where he knows Nerdanel is.

When he enters the studio, he coughs involuntarily. The room is filled with white dust, as if someone has gone and smashed a statue to bits and pieces. When he looks down at the floor, he realises that is exactly what has happened.

“What are you doing?” He asks, incredibly confused.

“Fëanáro?” Nerdanel calls, making her way over to the entrance where he stands. ‘What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologise about yesterday?” Fëanáro is very confused. What is she destroying? Why is she destroying it? Surely she can’t be dissatisfied with any of her pieces, they’re all so stunning!

“What are you apologising for? It’s my fault, anyway.”

“Nerdanel, I have never been more confused than I am precisely at the moment. How on Ea do you figure that this is your fault, and why am I surrounded in white dust?”

“I should never have shown you that statue. I should have realised the hurt it could have caused. And you were so upset- nothing should ever make you that upset. So I’m smashing that statue to bits and pieces.”

“Okay. First of all, you had absolutely no way of knowing and so therefore I must tell you, as your prince, to get rid of the notion that my complete breakdown yesterday was in any way your fault. Second of all… what?’

Nerdanel’s hands find their way to rest on his shoulders. “I. Am. Smashing. That. Statue. To. Bits. And. Pieces.”

“But you love the Valar? You worship them, angel. You don’t have to destroy a statue of something you worship just because it made me upset!”

“I love the Valar, you’re right. And in the future it’s likely I’ll be commissioned more statues of them, even Mandos, and I will accept those commissions. But I don’t want something that caused you so much distress anywhere near me.”

That’s awfully sentimental of her. No wonder he is so completely and utterly in love with Nerdanel. 

“Is there… anything left to smash?” He asks.

Nerdanel hands him a hammer and he smiles as he brings it down and smashes the stone image of Mandos’ white eyes to bits. Today is definitely a better day.

(the necklace lies forgotten in fëanáro’s pocket. he will give it to her later and she will love it, treasure it as a begetting day gift)


End file.
